


perder el equilibrio (to lose balance)

by fieryrondo



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: 'blink and you'll miss it' yuzuvier, 2017 Cup of China, Because yes, Character Study, Future Tense, Gen, MOODpiece, POV Second Person, Road to Pyeongchang, fiery's a mess, this is a goddamn prayer, unco solidarity, vamos javi!, who could not make it through that free without crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12651744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fieryrondo/pseuds/fieryrondo
Summary: You save your salchow butmuy tarde muy tardeit’s not enough.





	perder el equilibrio (to lose balance)

**Author's Note:**

> Stanning figure skaters = Pain. What you see is the aftermath.
> 
> Thank you to my beta for betaing and for getting me through Cup of China, which I'll add to the list of comps that must never be revisited again. Pretty sure "comforting hysterical writer" wasn't listed as one of the beta's responsibilities so please know you have my deepest gratitude.
> 
> Standard RPF disclaimer applies. Please enjoy!

Despite having two decades worth of skating experience under your belt, you’re convinced you will never like spins. Oh, you’ve certainly gotten better at them over the years, you’ve come a long way from those tender prepubescent days of glowering at your coach, who berates you for skipping out on spin practice _again_ , always _más tarde más tarde más tarde_ until your “later” becomes too late and Brian’s shaking his head when you suffer through another session with Paige.

 

Through sheer grit and iron will, with the fixed determinedness of an oscillating compass that inevitably points north, you’re now proud to say you hit your levels in competition. But adequacy is a far cry from love. It’s not that you mind the rotations, after all you’re perfectly willing to fly across the ice to jump your triples and quads. There’s just something unnerving about the fast tightness of a centered spin, a blur of motion and perfect stillness all at once, a loss of control you’re forced to accept with a murmured prayer at your lips, holding on and letting go as you dance upon a knife’s edge.

 

It’s the little things, you’ll think when you reflect back, parsing out the moments when things began to go awry. You’ll remember the start you give when you unconsciously reach for a wedge of lemon that isn’t there. You’ll remember an almost stranger’s voice offering words of encouragement right before your program. You’ll remember your fingers clenching the boards before you push off, a physical reminder for you to ground yourself, to recalibrate, to find that sweet spot of focus you know so well. _Pase lo que pase,_ whatever happens, this is your way, this is how you do things, how you’ve always done things.

 

When you open up on your first quad, you know immediately you haven’t found it. You save your salchow but _muy tarde muy tarde_ it’s not enough. Off-kilter, off-axis, you stumble, spinning out of control. You’ll fight for every point you can squeeze out of every step and spin. Easy becomes belabored. For two and a half minutes, you’ll struggle to correct the imbalance within, to reorient yourself back on the ice.

 

You don’t quite manage it. An utterly lackluster skate to show for your efforts.

 

When you receive your score in the kiss and cry, your stomach twists, the flavor of frustration lingers on your tongue. A part of you that you didn’t even know still existed will wilt when you consider the gap. 13 points. It’s a lot to make up, but you’ll convince yourself you can catch up. There’s still the free. As long you are foot perfect, as long others make mistakes, _as long as long as long as long_ it can be done.

 

It’s not impossible, you’ve done it before.

 

Last night’s dread manifests into something more potent, more awful, knocks the breath out of you when you try to get up from your bed only to fall back into it when the world shifts and _tilts_ , a wildly swinging pendulum. Only this time the pendulum won’t stop, but careens in nauseating sway. When you miss breakfast, Lee finds you shivering under the covers, cursing what destiny has wrought for you today. He will ask if you want to continue.

 

You consider his question. You know the skate you’ll offer for the free won’t be the one you want. It’ll be more than a medal you’ll lose tonight, and despite this, a part of you feels relieved that this has already been decided for you, an emetic thought more bitter than the bile simmering in the back of your throat. Skating has never been so hard.

 

You swallow it all, firm your resolve and tell him yes.

 

By the time you make it to your hotel room after the free, the medication will start to kick in, and for the first time all week, you’ll feel a little more sure, a little more like yourself. Your phone will buzz, heavy with messages and missed calls. Without looking, you’ll set it aside.

 

Once you’ve had some time to breathe, you’ll go through them one by one. You’ll call your mother first, and bask in the comfort of your native tongue. _Mierda mierda mierda._ She won’t reprimand you for the causticity of your words, but with _cariño_ , she’ll stop you, anchor you fast with words of her own and you’ll cry and tell her how much you miss her.

 

You’ll call Tracy and with a bit of luck, you’ll catch her at a good time when she’s not traveling and reassure her that you’ll be fine, that today was an off day and nothing more. She’ll hear the congestion in your voice, the slight catch of your breath, but Tracy won’t push. Instead, she’ll wait until you’re good and ready and when you are, she’ll listen in that wonderfully quiet way of hers.

 

You’ll call Brian and when he picks up on the second ring, the first thing you’ll tell him is to not feel guilty, that it was all on you. He’ll ask why and you’ll tell him. He’ll pause. You’ll fill in the silence with a gastrointestinal joke of extremely poor taste to dispel the tension and ever so calmly, Brian will work with you until you feel confident enough to come back with fire and blood for the competitions that still await you this season.

 

Once you’re feeling better the next morning, you’ll get to the supportive texts from friends, fellow skaters, the people who wish you well. One of these texts will be from Yuzuru, awkwardly apologetic, with an offer to talk once you’re back in Toronto, an invitation you’ll accept, because as uncomfortable as the conversation will be, you know Yuzuru means well. You’ll almost have missed each other in transit but after turning down the gala and rearranging your flight plans, you’ll get to see him off after all. Once you confirm you’re no longer contagious, he’ll wrap his arms around you without reserve, a thousand words in his embrace.

 

To your surprise, you’ll get a text from Patrick, a terse _i know a place_ accompanied by a 25% off discount coupon on select ice wines from Flat Rock Cellars. You’ll chuckle and reply, needling him for being cheap and not offering you a better deal but you certainly won’t say no to dinner. Because Patrick has excellent taste, you know it’ll be a good meal and once you get to the wine, an even better conversation. Laughing at the things that fly out of Patrick’s mouth unchecked, for Patrick is more honest than he likes to believe, you’ll talk long into the night, and drink in steady solace.

 

But not too long because you’ll have to haul your ass out of bed the next day to make it to practice. Your mind set afresh, you’ll find your footing on the ice again, charge through your run throughs with renewed vigor, and re-establish your lost equilibrium. You’ll sing your heart out as you drill through all of your elements with increasing confidence, your steps and choreography, your transitions and jumps.

 

(You’ll even look forward to practicing your spins.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Javi has a habit of sucking [on a lemon wedge](https://www.ifsmagazine.com/strategic-coaching-in-the-zone-with-brian-orser/) right before his skate during competitions. Apparently it helps him focus. 
> 
> [2] Paige Aistrop is the spinning specialist coach at TCC.
> 
> [3] Patrick Chan has his own line of ice wines sold at Flat Rock Cellars. Funnily enough, he reportedly has confirmed an intolerance to alcohol.


End file.
